Ahem.

I had a nap. Before that, at about noon, she left. She helped me with the mountain of dishes, and made us tea and oatmeal, wearing my parrot sweater, and we played casino, and she left.

I woke up yesterday, and had a vision of how the day would play out: a vision of domesticity; cleaning, shopping, cooking, and entertaining. There were a few snags - Ester was too incapacipated by illness to be of much help, not that i needed it with the cooking, but with moral support even; Joel, we realized sometime mid-afternoon, had disappeared to Washington DC that morning for a peace rally without bothering to inform us; most of the people I called to invite didn't check their messages until too late – but it went off as well as could have been anticipated. There was less time pressure than usual, which was nice. I waited until around 2:30 to blade to Genuardi's, where I spent ninety-odd bucks on groceries and dinner ingreedients and ketchup and a potato masher, and then realized I had forgotten the real purpose of the trip and went back in for some salmon steaks and chilean bass filets. Skating home with several score pounds of groceries on my back, carrying shopping bags full of salad greens and birkenstocks was not easy, but I made it back less than an hour after I had left. The guest list gradually revealed itself: Jocelyn, Jonah and Sarah, Dan Shargel (he showed up unannounced after we left one of our many messages on his machine. And Ester and myself. At least five of the six of us were sick one way or another. The menu was in my opinion one of the best we've ever had, not least because it was all non-vegan (Rebecca having escaped to Florida for the weekend): mixed field greens with feta cheese, walnuts, toasted pita bits, and a citrus vinnaigrette, excellent excellent mashed potatoes with basil and chêvre (I left out the half and half, put in more cheese, and boiled the garlic with the spuds), and the fish (I pan-seared the sea bass, which is much fun) prepared in a soy-based ginger-lime marinade (housewarming gift from mom) and garnished with grape tomatoes (I thought of putting those in to displace some of the marinade.) No cheesecake. Lemon water though. The guests raved adequately. I was happy. Ester dashed off to a movie with Jocelyn, and Dan and I shortly did the same, leaving a monster pile of dishes undone. We saw "Shrek" in Kirby, along with what seemed like half the campus. I didn't laugh as much as they did, but it is genuinely entertaining and well-made. Too bad Lithgow didn't get to do more, he was great. Why is the ogre Scottish? Note: rock music doesn't work well in medieval fairy tales, especialy animated ones.

After that we stopped by some triples on Parrish fourth; Elaina B. convinced me to hit the parties with her, but after a minute inside Phi Psi I really couldn't take any more. Bad music, boring people, everything that's wrong with the party scene. I hadn't really been to a mainstream campus party yet, so it was disheartening. Unsuccessful at finding other people to visit, I headed homeward, thinking to stop by the "Infinite Glam Rock" party in 1N briefly before getting some much needed rest. Of course, after Dan Sproul came up to use my bathroom, I was inspired to put on my sparkly red shirt and the wicked shoes. Christie placed a white boa around my neck, and it was all over. Whatever music they were playing certainly wasn't glam, so Daniel and I rectified that the best we could with my copy of ChangesBowie. That was enough to get us dancing. Somewhat awkwardly at first (Bowie's early stuff isn't really that conducive to dancing), but with persistence and quasi-drunken lackadaisicality. Daniel was resplendent in make-up, metallic shirt, shiny ribbon around the neck, bleach blond hair. Most others were less glammy; particularly Ben Schweigert in plaid flannel (he interrupted Bowie a few times to shout along to Guns and Roses with his buddies). Liza was wearing a fuzzy blue sweatshirt and an orientalish skirt, she invited me to be part of an improv piece for her choreo class; Kathy Walley had a lacey black dress, she invited me to the Yale house in two Thursdays for my birthday. We four were the core group of dancers; carving out a space in the middle of the dining room, passing the boa back and forth. After a few spirited cuts from Iggy Pop, I was feeling the need to escape from the alcohol and smoke and noise, so I invited Dan and Liza up the fire escape, with essential innocuity.

We sat in my room talking about houses and music and people and living. After an hour or so Daniel cut out, and with a surprising lack of awkwardness Liza and I passed another couple hours talking, mostly about dance, and Poland, and Alaska, and our parents. I offer her my hand. Improvisation. "We're such dancers," she mutters.

The soundtrack: St. Germain, Brian Blade Fellowship (exit Sproul), Sigur Rós, Rei Momo, Kid A (cue dancers), Bill Evans ("shouldn't we turn that peppy piano music off"), a few scant hours of silence, Stars of the Lid, more silence, Whitechocolatespaceegg, Lucinda Williams.

I'm such an idiot. I was on the verge of recovering from this malignance, and then I go and stay up all night and have a drink and share germs.